Velvet
by disconsolatedreams
Summary: Hermione runs a bookstore/cafe at Diagon Alley - but sometimes, what you see isn't what you get.
1. You will find me, time after time

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter. Hope characters aren't too OOC, not used to actually _writing _about this couple.

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It was ten, and the Loft was open.

Hermione had always loved the sun, especially the way it was then, its warm rays filtering through the windows of her humble shop. With careless flicks of her wand, the broom and the dustpan in the corner jolted awake and started making their rounds around the shop, while the coffee maker whirred to life like an animal roused from slumber. This was it - 21 Diagon Alley, her safe haven and sanctuary.

Hermione simply adored the Loft. It was a quaint, three-storeyed shophouse in a little corner of the busy street. Books of all nature lined the walls, while a small cafe occupied most of the ground floor. Upstairs were more books, then on the topmost floor was where Hermione lived. A cosy, three-room apartment situated right above her shop - this was where she reckoned she belonged. Life was easy, and pleasant enough, though there were times when the day seemed to stretch on and on as she watched the world from behind the coffee counter. It had been eight years since the battle, and five since she had uprooted from Muggle London, but somehow, she missed the hustle and bustle of the city; the sights, smells and places that she had grown up with and grown to love.

_Then she reminded herself once again of the reason why she ran away, why she was here - and that was reason enough to convince her that this was what she wanted, for now. _

It was five minutes past ten and the morning chores had been completed. Hermione reclined lazily in the chair behind the counter and perused the Daily Prophet that had just been delivered. It was alike yesterday's, and the day before - a goblin-wizard legal tussle over a fifteen-generation brooch, A Discourse on Broomstick Speeds in City Areas and a Fifty Metre Radius Beyond City Boundaries by Percy Weasley and much, much more _interesting _news. Hermione sighed and flipped through the paper, scanning through predicatable headlines, just searching for some excitement in someone else's life...

"Good morning."

"Wha-" She jumped and spilt her coffee over the Prophet. Indignant, she glared upward at the individual who had rudely interrupted her morning reading. Her lips curled into a smile as she took in the shock of blond hair and the mischievous smile that spread across the face of said individual, who looked like he was simply _glowing_ in the rays of the morning sun.

"A little engrossed, are we." Draco smirked, leaning casually against the counter. "Never knew you'd find the news so interesting. What with Weasley's rather informative article about a pertinent issue...how groundbreaking."

"Oh, Draco, the usual?" She turned and pointed her wand at the coffee maker without waiting for his reply.

"Things don't change around here, do they."

Hermione snorted as she cleaned up the mess on her paper. _The man was more trouble than he was worth. _

Draco had been a morning regular since the Loft had opened. At first his presence had made her a tad uncomfortable. He would swish in and order a cup of coffee, then seat himself in the armchair in the corner till dusk, either reading a book from the shelves, or writing notes in his black, leather-bound notebook. They rarely spoke, but once in a while he would glance in the direction of the counter, and her soft brown eyes would meet those piercing gray orbs that seemed to dig deep down into her soul, into the very depths of her being. He would look away to immerse himself once again in whatever he was doing, wrapping himself up in layers and layers of complicated thought that she did not care to decipher.

After all, he was the enemy, wasn't he? _Nothing but two-faced Death Eater spawn. _Hermione forgave, but she had some trouble forgetting. It wasn't easy, not when she had lost so much.

He had changed much, though, she admitted. Draco Malfoy was no longer the gangly, cantankerous Slytherin brat she had gone to school with. Eight years had done him some good, and he seemed to be faring well, with enough inheritance in Gringotts to last him ten lifetimes, and an avid fanclub following to boot. Hermione wondered just what those swooning fangirls who seemed to be reduced to piles of mush in his presence saw in him - perhaps, apart from the fact that he did seem to be London's most eligible pureblood bachelor, or the fact that he was rather good looking. Yet with all that he had to his name and the world at his feet, he had chosen to stroll in that sunny day when the Loft opened its doors to the public, that devil-may-care smirk spread across his handsome face. She still remembered how she had made him his coffee and watched, disbelieving, as he seated himself quietly in the velvet armchair, his nose buried in Shakespeare for the entire day. _Who in his right mind would read Shakespeare through the day anyway? _She pondered.

Ron had not taken kindly to Draco's presence. After raging away at an unresponsive Malfoy who seemed to have cast a silencing charm on his surroundings, Ron berated Hermione for even letting him in, for allowing him to sit so comfortably instead of hexing him into oblivion. But Hermione had left him alone in spite of Ron's protests - besides, he was a customer, _her _customer, and Draco had every right to be there.

So Draco turned up every day at the Loft, five minutes past ten, and he would sit there till night fell and Hermione had to lock up. Hermione wondered if Draco really had anything more worthwhile or constructive to society to do - but she thought not, since he seemed to do nothing but _read. _This she asked him once, out of sheer curiosity and the need to break the uncomfortable silence; but all he gave in reply was a mysterious smile.

It continued for five years - there he would sit, five days a week, for as long as he could. They spent hours on end together, yet they seldom spoke. All she knew about him was what she picked up from magazines and the Prophet. He was, as reported, the owner of many properties and companies, yet it was rather obvious to her that he was not particularly interested in them, nor did he tend to them personally. She watched him over the rim of her glasses, perched on the chair behind the coffee counter. Most of the time he was deep in thought, or had his nose buried in the book he was holding. But at other times he would stare vacantly out the shop window, watching as people walked to and fro outside - just watching blankly as his eyes glazed over. And it was times like this when Hermione felt like he wasn't there at all.

There were days when she knew he was in a bad mood, and avoided his line of sight as much as possible. He would collapse into the armchair and cover his face with his hands, and there he would stay, just sitting there, leaving the world at the shop door.

_Sometimes she thought he was hiding from them too. _

One thing stayed true, though, he would always order the same brew, and plonk himself in the same seat - the huge armchair that gave him a view of both the counter and what was going on outside the shop. She expected him, and he would come without fail; and he would stay till the veil of night fell softly on Diagon Alley. Then he would rise, gathering his velvet cloak around him, and with a polite nod in Hermione's direction, he would push the door open ever so softly, and with a tinkling of the bell, he would disappear.

_Without a trace. _

As usual, Hermione would lock the shop doors and put up the usual security wards before heading upstairs to her warm bed. Extinguishing the lights, she would snuggle up under her comforter and gaze into the darkness inside and outside - but all she would see before she closed her eyes were those stormy gray eyes and his careless, blonde hair.

_She knew very well that he would be back when morning came, time after time._

_

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AN: So yep, tell me how y'all like it so far? I've actually got the whole storyline planned out in my head, but just let me know how you think it's going so far! ((: Reviews are always so encouraging.


	2. Has no one told you she's not breathing?

AN: Usual disclaimer, don't own HP, though I sometimes wish I did. And warning for implied character death. Not Hermione or dear Draco, so you can breathe easy.

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Hermione was travelling down an impossibly long tunnel, footsteps echoing into what seemed to be an endless expanse of darkness. It was a familiar friend now, the welcoming cover of night - and somehow in the dark she found that it was easier to believe in what seemed so pretentious in the light of day. This was the life she was resigned to, this nightmarish masquerade. She was working now, though. She always seemed to be working.

It was different this time. Hermione felt it in her bones, in every fibre of her being. But it was clear, crystal clear what her instructions were - and she was to carry it out. Perfunctorily, professionally, as usual.

It was simple. Get there, finish it, and get out. After all, how many people had lain gasping at her feet, pleading, hoping for some benignancy on her part, begging for her to let them live?

She prayed for their salvation. _And her own, while she was at it._

She had arrived at the end of the tunnel, and by the light of her wand she glimpsed what seemed to be a door - the exit to wherever she was headed to that night.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione took hold of the door handle as it glowed bright blue, and with that all-too familiar wrench in her stomach, she was off.

She landed softly in a clearing. Her enhanced senses quickly adjusted to the environment. Some movement to the left, followed by the cracking of branches under feet. This was it.

Hermione took a firm grip on her wand and made her way through the thick undergrowth on her left. Whoever it was had sensed her arrival and was attempting to make a quick escape. Too late for that, Hermione considered, fingering her wand carefully.

The person had stopped. Hermione stepped forward, taking in the scene before her. A hooded figure stood, cornered, in the undergrowth, as Harry pointed his wand directly at her.

"You should have known this was coming,'' he said coldly.

The figure backed away, afraid. Hermione moved closer, her eyes flashing dangerously as she steeled herself for what she was about to do.

"We don't take any nonsense from moles who go astray. And that you have done. So, I guess you understand the consequences. An utter waste, in my opinion.''

Hermione moved closer and scrutinised the face of her prey, carefully, searching for a little shred of remorse, but all she could see was fear.

''No, you got it wrong, this isn't," the girl tried to defend herself, her arms flailing weakly as she backed further into the thick undergrowth.

"Like I mentioned, extremely regrettable.''

Three days later, the Auror office received news that the information was wrong - the unrest was not because the mole had sold the Ministry out.

And for no reason, Luna Lovegood was dead.

That was the last straw.

Hermione had had enough with all of it. All the scheming and hatching of another elaborate plan, another surefire way to _wipe them out_. She felt like a Death Eater herself - and all she saw when she closed her eyes was the blood dripping from her hands, as that damned scene replayed in her mind. Those innocent, fear-stricken eyes, that final gasp for breath - and then she was no more. That wonderful girl she had linked arms with while shopping on Oxford Street, the girl who'd taught her how to smoke feather-covered cigarettes filled with radish and marijuana, _six feet under. _

She had killed her in cold blood. In the name of justice, in the name of a cause she had always believed in, a cause that she would once have gladly given up her life for.

To hell with the Ministry and the Auror office. To hell with whatever bright future she had been promised. It was nonsense - every bit of it - and Hermione was throwing in the towel, washing her hands off this _dirty business, _but she knew in her heart of hearts that her past was as sullied as theirs.

_Our Father in heaven,_

_hallowed be your name,_

_your kingdom come,_

_your will be done,_

_on earth as in heaven._

_Give us today our daily bread._

_Forgive us our sins_

_as we forgive those who sin against us._

_Save us from the time of trial_

_and deliver us from evil._

_For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours_

_now and for ever. _

_Amen._

---

Hermione jerked awake, gasping for air, as she awoke to the darkness of her bedroom. Another blasted nightmare, another fragment of her past that simply refused to die.

She sat up slowly in bed, flipping the covers aside. She was suffocating and her head was aching terribly - it was warm, too warm, and she needed some air. Fumbling for the clock on her bedside table, she brought it up to her bleary eyes.

"Nine already." She shook her head to clear her mind of the receding darkness that the nightmare had wrought, and drew the curtains with a flick of her wand. Getting out of bed clumsily, she shuffled to the bathroom to wash up. In the steam of the hot water that gushed out of the tap, she scrutinised herself in the mirror. There she was, Hermione Granger, twenty-five going on twenty-six, and halfway to hell. Splashing more hot water onto her pale, gaunt face, she watched as her skin seemed to regain some color before she headed downstairs.

It took much effort for her to plaster a smile on her face as she greeted the customers as they whisked in and out the door throughthe day. She did not speak to Draco, though, despite the warm smile that he flashed her as he sauntered through the door. Hermione was in no mood for his snide remarks or his clever retorts - it was just not her day.

It was simply ironic how the only warmth and familiarity she obtained was from someone whom she positively hated during her Hogwarts days. He had warmed up to her gradually over these five years, bantering playfully over her morning coffee, smiling at her every now and then from his seat in the corner. It was comforting, sometimes, to see someone she knew amongst the unfamiliar faces that went in and out of the bookstore, but it was simply awkward, seeing that they were hardly friends. But it seemed that they were both seeking some sort of solace, some peace and quiet from the maelstrom that continued to rage outside. Things were far from peaceful in the wizarding world, but within Hermione's little kingdom, everything was fine. And these five years, Draco, like her, had shared the peace that this haven had to offer them, however transient it was.

It was still strange, however, how he rose from his armchair that evening, a certain strangeness in the way he regarded her. He did not simply leave, but walked right toward her, and she put down her book and forced a weak smile.

"Goodnight, Draco. See you tomorrow." Hermione got to her feet and reached for her wand to begin her routine cleanup.

He cleared his throat rather loudly, and she turned to face him, surprised.

"I was just wondering, Hermione, since you seem to have nothing to do at night," A playful smile graced his lips as he continued, "Would you care to have dinner with me tonight?"

The throbbing headache that the nightmare had given her had lasted throughout the day and was showing no signs of going off, and Hermione was tired. But for some reason that she could not fathom, she said yes.

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AN: Hope y'all find it fine so far. A lot of other things are going to happen, though. After all, it's romance/mystery. So yep. Hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think. (:

Meanwhile, perhaps I'll reply my reviews here! That makes things a whole lot easier.

**Thank you SO MUCH for the encouragement, its great to know people are actually reading the stuff I write here. I basically wanted this to be rather...different, so I'm glad you guys think its good. (: And halogirl810, Ron and Hermione...I'll elaborate on them in the later chapters (: But by now its pretty plain to see that all of them (the characters) aren't that simple - as with all of mankind I suppose - so I guess, sorry for people who were looking forward to a pleasant Hermione and Draco...not gonna happen for now. (; Hope you guys enjoy the rest of the story, haha. **


	3. Be careful what you wish for

AN: Sorry for the major delay (: But I'm back! And here's the update. As usual, don't own Harry Potter.

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After re-doing her hair for the third time, Hermione had a moment of epiphany - that she was actually nervous about the entire affair. She had, in the past one and a half hours, changed in and out of twenty different dresses and tried to tame her hair (to no avail). Then it hit her - she was actually dressing up for Draco. Shuddering at the realisation, Hermione sighed and picked the black halter she had worn for Harry and Ginny's wedding off the bed whilst clearing all the hair products off her dresser. After all, she considered, it was just Draco, and they were just going for a simple dinner...

It was a minute more to eight, which was when the portkey Draco had given her was due to depart. Checking her appearance once more in the mirror, she locked up the Loft and clutched the ornate key in her hand, watching as it glowed bright blue, taking her to what she hoped would be a good place to be.

---

Hermione landed unceremoniously on a sofa in an ornately-decorated room, in which she appeared to be alone. A little disorientated and nauseous from travel, she attempted to adjust to her surroundings.

"Mademoiselle Granger?" The door creaked open and a timid-looking girl poked her head in. "I was told to expect you at this time, Monsieur Malfoy is waiting in the private room."

"Oh." _Monsieur? Mademoiselle? _Hermione got to her feet unsteadily and followed the girl down the corridor. The girl stopped abruptly and whispered into the lion-shaped door knocker, which growled as the door clicked open.

"Good evening."

Hermione looked around and spotted Draco reclining in a ridiculously large armchair at the end of a rectangular rosewood table that spanned half the room. The girl ushered her into the armchair at the opposite end of the table and left in a hurry.

"You frighten her. And this is frightening me." Hermione gestured to their plush surroundings as she noticed the glittering chandelier that dangled above the table, illuminating the room.

"Well, seeing this is the most expensive restaurant in Paris, I would have thought you would be pleasantly surprised. Oh, and I forgot to mention - you look simply..amazing." Draco replied with a warm, disarming smile. Hermione felt herself smiling too as she observed him -- he was dressed in a black suit with buttons undone at the collar, his bleached-blonde hair hanging carelessly over his eyes.

_Well, he sure looked amazing too. _

"I apologise for taking liberties with your choice of wine, I just thought you would appreciate the 1943 Chateau."

"Oh. No problem," Hermione said, feigning indifference as she sipped from the glass before her that was filling itself. Meanwhile, she continued to glance around the room and concluded that it was indeed sinful - sacrilegous, even, to indulge so extravagantly on dinner in Paris, no less. Hermione surmised that the food alone was the price of the Loft. Besides, they weren't really friends anyway, were they?

"Hermione, is everything alright?" Draco asked concernedly, jolting her out of her reverie.

"Ah, yes. Actually, no. Draco, this is too much. I must say, I am suitably impressed but this is just so..._Malfoy_." Hermione gushed. "I know you're used to this, but we aren't really that close to begin with, you didn't have to-"

"Hermione."

She stopped short as he gazed right into her eyes, and she remembered just why she had trouble holding his gaze.

"Listen. Just for tonight, why don't you just forget who I am? Dismiss the fact that I am Draco Malfoy, and while you're at it, pretend you're not Hermione Granger. And by the end of tonight, see if you've changed your mind."

Hermione nodded mutely at him and looked away quickly, raising her glass before gulping the wine down, avoiding his gaze as he raised his in return.

It was the most fun she had had in eight years.

Hermione laughed along with Draco as they chatted over dinner, chuckling at his witty jokes whilst ignoring the snide comments he made along the way about Ron's dress sense and Harry's perpetual paranoia. While he was with her, the ghosts seemed to fade away - and for once, she felt warm and _loved; _for once, the darkness left her alone.

They had finished, and Draco rose gracefully from his seat and offered a hand to her. Bemused, she rose and slid her hand into his, and the next moment, he had apparated them somewhere else.

Hermione gasped as she found herself in what seemed to be an empty amusement park. It was lit up by multicoloured lights - lights that swirled and burned bright, blinking playfully as they changed from yellow to red, then green, and back again.

She let Draco walk her down a glass pathway framed by a silver archway. Then she saw it - a golden ferris wheel that seemed to glow in the night sky.

"Come with me."

Draco ushered her into the next car that went by and sat next to her as the door slid shut. The compartment continued on its ascent, and they sat in total silence as Hermione pressed her hands against the windows as they rose further and further up, watching as the lights of the Parisian skyline came into view.

"Hermione?"

"Yeah?" She tore her gaze away from the breathtaking view before her eyes, turning her attention to Draco, who seemed to be scrutinising her every move.

"My mother once brought me here, and she told me that there was this strange belief that if you reached the top of a ferris wheel and made a wish, it would come true."

Hermione looked out of the window again and became conscious of the fact that they were seconds away from the highest point.

"So I wish that you would give us a chance."

There was an icy silence in the compartment as Hermione avoided Draco's line of sight and focused on a distant object outside the window. It was just hard to believe that Draco Malfoy, sole heir of the one of the wizarding world's most prominent pureblood families was asking her, a Muggle-born witch, to _give a shot at a relationship with him. _It was so strange that it felt just like a twisted fairytale, a freaky one at that - but it was definitely real.

They reached the ground and exited the compartment in the same uncomfortable silence that disturbed Hermione very much. She walked away from him quickly to sit on the park bench facing the carousel. Lost for words, Draco wandered forlornly to the carousel, and with that atheletic effortlessness that Hermione had always admired, he leapt onto the white horse that went by and sat there, staring vacantly at the lights that continued to sparkle in technicolor shades.

"Draco?" Hermione called, as she rose and walked toward the carousel, as he drifted past slowly on the horse.

He turned and gave her a faint smile. "I respect your decision. I won't force the issue-"

"Draco, don't make me change my mind. Look, this whole thing is freaky and rather sudden for me, but I guess maybe we could try, and with time..."

He laughed, and the light danced in his silvery eyes as he smiled and reached for her hand, pulling her onto the carousel, enfolding her in his soft embrace. Hermione looked up into those eyes - those cloudy, cold eyes that now seemed to shine in the darkness - and in them she saw warmth, and the happiness she had strived so hard to find.

Then he held her close and his tender lips met hers as he kissed her ever so softly, as the lights twinkled like the stars in the sky above.

_His kiss was like velvet. _

The darkness was gone.

---

The cloaked figure on the opposite roof watched carefully as Hermione made her way around her tiny apartment, singing to herself as she tidied up the room. _She was happy, _he observed. He took the last cigarette from the box beside him and lit it with a flame conjured from his wand. Taking a long drag from it, he exhaled with a long, tired sigh as Hermione pulled the curtains shut and switched off the lights. All was dark in the apartment, and he knew that she would rest, still overjoyed as she dreamed of beautiful things that would make her smile in her sleep. But he would sit there on the roof of the opposite shophouse for another hour or so, just staring across the street at the little, curtain-covered window. He had done so for five years, tonight was no different.

_Just that those damned cigarettes were finished. _

He extinguished the cigarette stub and sat in the pitch black of his surroundings. And there he sat, waiting, watching, till the first streaks of light blue painted their way across the sky, heralding the break of dawn. Then he disappeared, as silently as he came - as he always did.

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AN: Hope this chapter doesn't let you down...isn't as dark as the previous chapter, but there'll be much more to come, as you can see. (: Let me know what you think!


	4. Notice

This is disconsolatedreams' friend! due to personal reasons she'll not be updating till January. Please remain patient as she promises a spring blockbuster of the whole story. Yay. Thanks all for your kind readership and see you guys back at this page soon!


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